


Wake up Call

by Camfield



Series: Wake up Call [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: Wake up Call - Ch 1<br/>Universe: G1<br/>Characters: Prowl, Jazz, unnamed mechs<br/>Rating: NC-17<br/>Warnings: Death, Mutilation, Mind fuckery, Dark fic, references to interfacing, language<br/>Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time a mech showed up dead in front of the Ark, it was chaos.  No one had seen or heard anything, and the security feeds were blank one minute and had a body in them the next.   
   
Red Alert had fritzed and been taken to medbay  while the officers gathered around the body, the rest of the crew murmering as they were herded back inside.  
   
 *~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
The second time a mech showed up, bots started traveling in pairs and groups, everyone was constantly looking over their shoulders.  
   
The officer’s meeting had an air of urgency as they reviewed the meager information available, but no one had a clue what was going on.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
When the third mech appeared on the doorstep of the Ark, bots started to flat out refuse any solitary duties.  Never mind the fact that this one had been a con, not an Autobot, and the officers agreed.  They imposed curfews, Red Alert flat out refused to leave the security room and had hardlined himself into the Ark’s defenses, and ordered everyone to check in with Teletraan on a regular basis.  
   
Ratchet had pulled the command team into the medbay to show them the bodies with a dark look on his face.  Each and every one, he said, was missing their spikes.  They had been very obviously aroused, then twisted and ripped off while the mech was still online.  
   
Ironhide had nearly purged when Ratchet slid back one of the dead mech’s panels to show them.  The damage was… extensive.  Torn and ragged plating stained with transfluid and energon.  
   
But Ratchet had said what bothered him more were the glyphs carved into the body plating.  
Each mech had the same glyphs carved in their plating.  
   
‘Betrayer’  
‘Infidelity’  
‘MINE’  
‘Liar’  
   
The glyphs were repeated over and over in the plating, carved while the victim was alive because you could see the congealed energon pooled in them.  
   
They might have lived, Ratchet explained, but they had each had their spark crystals shattered.  The glyph ‘Heartbreaker’ carved on the back of their spark cases.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
Optimus had his head in his hands.  There had been 8 mechs show up on their doorstep dead.  Each one killed the exact same way and it didn’t seem that the killer cared if they were Autobots or Decepticons.  
   
Megatron had contacted him privately to question him about the missing Decepticons, only to find that not only was it happening to the Autobots as well, but that neither of them had any evidence on who was behind it.  
   
All they knew was that suddenly soldiers started going missing, and turning up dead on the front of the Ark.  
   
It was maddening.  It didn’t even seem like their precautions were making a difference!  2 of the Autobots taken had been WHILE those bots were with their groups!  
   
Mechs were getting frantic.  Optimus knew it wouldn’t be long before they started refusing to go out on patrols and that was something they could not afford to have happen.   
   
They had to find whoever was doing this. They had to stop whoever was doing this.  
   
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
“So sad, that you chose them over me.  So sad, that I wasn’t ever enough to satisfy you.”  
   
The mech held up a spike, the end dripping with mixed fluid, and looked at the one he had just torn it from.  
   
“Was it worth it?  Did you enjoy interfacing him, _fucking_ him?  I’m sure that it must have been worth it, seeing as how you ignored my warning.”  
   
He sighed as the mech strapped to the berth alternated between screams and pleas.  
   
“Perhaps… this is as much my fault as it is yours.  I must not have been good enough if he chose to seek out a mech like you.  Too bad that this punishment is as much for you,“  
   
The mech leaned forward and dragged a blunt piece of metal through the other’s plating, carving glyph after glyph into the places he knew his lover had touched.  
   
“as it will be for him.”  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
On the Ark,  a mech bolted upright on his berth.  A long forgotten comm channel singing to life for astroseconds with pained screams before dying out just a quickly, a dark voice echoing in the background.  
   
“Wake up call, lover.”  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Wake up Call - Ch 2  
> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Jazz  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Warnings: Death, Mutilation, Mind fuckery, Dark fic, references to interfacing, language.  
> Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.

**Chapter 2**  
   
Ratchet sat in his office in the medbay, fingers steepled in front of his face as he ran through the limited information he had gathered.  
   
It didn’t seem to make any sense.  The dead mecha could only be connected by the flimsiest of reasons and Ratchet was sure he was missing some connection, _something_ that they had overlooked that could connect the ever growing pile of bodies in his morgue.  
   
But as he wracked his processor and picked apart the data strand by strand he could find nothing.  
   
Nothing that even hinted at why they kept appearing on the Ark’s doorstep.  Nothing that hinted to the reasoning behind the removal of their penetrative interface equipment.  
   
Nothing.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Ark was running on panic mode when the next dead mech was discovered.  For all their precautions it seemed that nothing was able to stop the killer and most mecha were neurotic messes that were constantly looking over their shoulders and standing close enough to share plating with as many others as they could manage.  
   
It was disheartening to say the least.  Most of these mecha had lived on the Ark for centuries and to see the level of distrust and terror now present literally hurt Optimus.  
   
For a mech who lived on the trust of his men for loyalty, this was one of the worst possible situations he could have found himself in.  If he hadn’t already known that Megatron was also losing soldiers, though the other leader seemed much less worried about his soldiers then punishing the mech responsible for undermining his authority, he would have chalked this up as a ‘Decepticon Special’.  
   
As it was, he was fully aware that the terror his crew felt would eventually manifest itself in some kind of mutiny.  There were his most loyal, his commanders and a select number of soldiers that he knew would not falter, and then there were the unfortunate ‘fillers’ that he was sure would break sooner rather than later.   
   
It was now a matter of time.  They were no closer to catching who, or what, was doing this and so far there hadn’t been a single clue to point them in any direction.  
   
Optimus rested his helm in his battle worn hands.  Physical enemies he could deal with, he could fight no problem.  This not knowing was what was defeating them and he didn’t have any idea on how to counteract psychological enemies.  
   
As Prime, he was afraid of many things.  
   
In this, he was just as terrified as his crew.  
   
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Jazz sat in the monitor room, supervising his shift as an officer, and rubbed his sensory horns lightly.  
   
He had run through all the comm frequencies he remembered in an attempt to figure out who had contacted him that night but had yet to come across a match.   
   
That disconcerted him more than the screams had, he was special ops after all.   
   
The idea that he couldn’t identify either voice OR the comm frequency had been grating on his nerves.   The original line had been open far too little time, in addition to startling him from recharge, for his sensors to ping a location even as quick as they were.   
   
He only had the vaguest feeling that the one voice had sounded familiar.  Screams were hard enough to distinguish, after a while they all sounded the same, but that second voice in the background…  
   
Jazz shook his helm.  Brooding was getting him nowhere and he had a duty as an officer to pay attention to the terrified mecha on his shift.  
   
So he forcibly turned his attention back to the tightened plating of his friends as they alternated between spurts of fierce anger and mild hysteria.  
   
*~*~*~~*~*~*  
   
Jazz walked in to the medbay, optics tracking automatically each movement as he casually leaned against the doorframe to Ratchet’s office.  Knocking politely, he watched the subdued bustle around him until the haggard looking medic stumbled out and jerked his head toward the back room.  
   
They moved inside and quickly shut the door against prying eyes, Ratchet moving to uncover the latest victim.  
   
This had become an unfortunate routine for the both of them.  A new dead mech would appear, Ratchet would call Jazz down to see if the Ops Commander could see anything that he’d missed and Jazz would alternately feel rage and admiration for the one responsible.  
   
It was a tedious cycle that had yet to end or produce any relevant information.  
   
“Wish we could find something out here Jazz.  I’ve never seen the crew so touchy.”  
   
Jazz dipped one shoulder in a mock shrug.  There wasn’t anything they could do that they weren’t doing.  Even with his agents on high alert, who or whatever was doing this was good.   
   
“Dunno what else we can do Ratch.  Mah agents’ve scoured the place and come up empty.  Only thing we know is that they’re good.”  
   
Ratchet snorted and uncovered the body with a flick of the fingers to see Jazz’s body stiffen in surprise.  
   
“Jazz?”  
   
“Ah know ‘im.”  
   
Ratchet glanced back at the mech before eagerly moving to the spy’s side.  
   
“Ah used to… work for ‘im back on Cybertron.  Before the war.”  
   
This Jazz was strangely subdued, something Ratchet was unaccustomed to seeing, and it was more than disconcerting.  
   
“Is he connected to the others in any way?  This is the first break we’ve gotten Jazz, there has to be some connection!”  
   
Ratchet threw off the covers from the other frames, as if hoping the visual stimulus would jar Jazz into another revelation.  
   
Jazz, for his part, looked at each of the many bodies carefully before turning back to the newest one.  The lost look on his face at odds with his normal expression and Ratchet’s good humor quickly vanished.  
   
“Ah… Ah don’t know.”  
   
Jazz whipped around and plunged out the door, leaving Ratchet nearly gaping at his exit before he narrowed his optics.  
   
Jazz had lied.  Something connected these mecha and Ratchet would stop at nothing to find out what it was.  
   
~*~*~*~~**~~*~  
  
The mech hidden in the shadows turned thoughtful eyes toward the retreating Saboteur, already knowing where he was headed.  It seemed his little plan was coming along nicely.  
   
Soon, he comforted himself.  Soon he would reveal another piece to the puzzle and punish those responsible for his current misery.  
   
“It’s not my fault… you all deserve what is coming now.”  
  
A slender finger came up to his own mouth and he made a shushing noise in the dark.  
   
“Don’t say a word.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Wake up Call - Ch 3  
> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Jazz/Prowl  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Warnings: Death, Mutilation, Mind fuckery, Dark fic, references to interfacing, language.  
> Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas

**Weeks had passed with no new body, and things were finally starting to settle back down into a semblance of order.  
   
Jazz had been… distant, to all the other mecha.  Taking his energon rations and leaving the rec room immediately, refusing to get involved with any of the twin’s pranks and even begging off when Blaster asked him to help plan a party.  
   
In short, something was _wrong_ with Jazz.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
Jazz sat in Prowl’s office, a half drunk energon cube dangling listlessly from his hand as he stared into the distance.  
   
More and more he had been coming here to watch his lover work, something that before had been quite boring was now quite soothing to his tangled mind.   
   
He’d not been quite honest with Ratchet, something he knew that Ratchet knew.  
   
The last mech had brought back memory files he’d buried deep in his processor with no intention to ever recall them.   The only reason they hadn’t been deleted was that no self-respecting ops agent would willingly delete information that they might be able to use later on.  Blackmail was something that almost everyone respected.  
   
   
Himself included.  
   
Why whomever was doing this and choosing these particular mecha… Jazz didn’t know, yet.   His past was something that he had jealously guarded from the moment he’d been recruited into Ops.  His appearance, designation, nearly everything had been changed.  There shouldn’t be ANYONE who knew who he was.  
   
And yet, the specific dead mecha in the Ark’s medbay stated otherwise.   
   
It was frustrating to say the least, and his brooding was starting to get on even his own nerves.  So lost was he in his own thoughts that when Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz’s waist he jumped and his energon cube flew across the room.  
   
Prowl tightened his hold in response.  
   
“Easy Jazz!  Are you alright?”  
   
Jazz forced himself to relax into his lover’s arms.  
   
“Thinkin’ ‘bout unpleasant things Prowler.  Nothin’ yah need to bother yahself wit’."  
   
Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl’s and leaned back, resting his head back onto a strong shoulder and turning his head into the warm neck.  
   
“If it makes you this unhappy I should hardly think it is something I need not ‘bother’ myself with.  Would you like to talk about it?”  
   
The words were murmured against his audio horns and he shivered against the pleasant sensations that ran through him.   
  
“Ah don’ suppose yah’d be willing to make it all better, yah know, instead of all that boring talking.”  
   
The hands around his middle loosened to trail fingertips along the plating of his abdomen and thighs, the touch maddeningly light and insufficient.  
   
“I’m not sure Jazz, perhaps you should talk me though _exactly_ what you want.  That way I can have my ‘boring talking’ and you might just get what you want.”  
   
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
It was later that evening, much later, when a mech slipped out of the Ark, intent on their chosen task.  
   
The last mech had sent a message, and he would be foolish to not capitalize on the opportunity it brought.  Jazz was already on edge, perhaps now was the time to knock him over.  
   
His silent laughter/sobs shook his chassis as he moved, keeping silent and in the shadows, and even through his convictions he couldn’t help but feel the pain he had worked so hard to push down.  
   
‘He was MINE! I could have GIVEN love!’  
   
That thought came up again and again.  Jazz had been his alone!  Then he’d had to go and ruin it with that…. With that-  
   
Well, it didn’t matter now anyhow.  He wasn’t able to stop, not when doing this produced the most satisfied feelings he’d ever felt.  Even if he thought maybe that stopping now would preserve what little relationship was left…  
   
He shook those thoughts out of his processor, leaving only the firm resolve he’d started this venture with.  
   
He would finish what he started and everyone would know exactly who and what Jazz really was.   
   
‘Now I’m taking Love’  
   
His coo to the Jazz in his processor was tinged with not a small amount of malicious glee, because they would pay.  They would pay in the only way that gave him some closure.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Wake up Call - Ch 4  
> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Jazz/Prowl  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Warnings: Death, Mutilation, Mind fuckery, Dark fic, references to interfacing, language.  
> Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas

**Ratchet had never seen Jazz so off balance.  
   
He was very visibly trembling, something that he’d never seen happen before, and there were tears, TEARS silently running down his face.  
   
Over _Soundwave_ of all mecha.  
   
“Jazz, please!  You have to talk to me, tell me something about this!  I know you see a connection, I KNOW you do.  Good mecha are dying left and right and in order to stop the one doing this we need all the information we can get!  Please Jazz.”  
   
Jazz shifted from pede to pede, optics never leaving the mutilated mockery of mouthplates carved into the battlemask Soundwave wore.   
   
“Ah used ta know ‘em.  All of’m.”  
   
Ratchet sighed and rocked back on his heels.   
   
“So I’ve gathered Jazz.  Is there any other connection?  How or where do you know them from?”  
   
Jazz shifted again, his EM field flaring with embarrassment, annoyance and no small amount of guilt.  
   
Ratchet paid close attention; it wasn’t often that Jazz forgot himself enough to let his emotions into his EM field like that.  
   
“Back on Cybertron ah had a different job.  Ah took contracts from all these mecha.”  
   
He visibly gathered himself.  
   
“Soundwave was… Soundwave had one o’ my biggest contracts.  Before the raids hit ah was in wit’m near to every day.”  
   
Ratchet paused to re-examine the body.  It did show more than the usual amount of damage, though he’d originally thought it was because Soundwave was much too strong to be taken down without a spectacular fight.  
   
The carved glyphs were all there, though more voluminous and crowded on the navy and white plating, and the exposed interface array was more of a mess than normal.  
   
The spike had been torn off, like the others, but Jazz could see the twisted end of the plating protruding from Soundwave’s valve.  
   
The energon stains made it more than clear what had happened.  
   
It took all of Jazz’s formidable will power not to look away.  Soundwave hadn’t deserved this, he’d been loyal to Megatron, sure, but all in the name of family.  
   
Megatron had given him the out he needed from the city.  Provided him with energon and a place to recharge where no one else could and it had bought him the most loyal soldier anyone could ask for.  
   
Privately, Jazz always wondered what would have happened if they’d gotten him out first.  Soundwave had been so much more than what mecha saw now, he’d been a loving creator to his cassettes, a well-respected member of the community and had, after a fashion, become one of Jazz’s only friends.  
   
One couldn’t afford to have friends, not in his previous line of work, not really now.  Prowl was the only one who really saw past the mech ‘Jazz’ was.  That was why Jazz allowed himself this one thing, why Jazz allowed himself to feel back.  
   
He felt his resolve harden against the mecha responsible.  He would kill them and give Soundwave the burial that he knew Soundwave deserved.   
   
Ratchet was unaware of the specific thoughts running through Jazz’s mind, but the changing expressions mixed with the wildy fluctuating EM field told him that Soundwave was more than just a contract.  
   
*~*~**~**~*~*~~*  
   
Prowl entered the Medbay later that same day, waiting patiently until Ratchet was finished with whatever he was doing before following him to the morgue.  
   
He shut the door behind him and stood by as Ratchet uncovered Soundwave.  
   
“How may I assist you Ratchet.  You know that we all have already seen the body, of course.”  
   
Ratchet gestured to the uncovered interface array.  
   
“I didn’t show you all this part; I fleshed out a hunch before calling you here. Look.”  
  
  
Prowl walked over and glanced down, taking in the end of the torn plating protruding from the tightly closed valve, before canting his head to the side.  
“Have you removed this yet to look at it?”  
   
Ratchet shook his head.  
   
“I haven’t moved or removed anything.”  
   
There was a strange look on Prowl’s face as he looked at Ratchet.  
   
“You may wish to examine the valve carefully, it seems to me that going through all the trouble to keep the spike within the valve means whoever did it wanted something kept inside.”  
   
Ratchet gave Prowl a carefully considering look before transforming his hands and carefully extracting the mangled spike from Soundwave’s valve and looked at it carefully, turning it around in the stark light.  
   
The spike itself was covered with the glyph for ‘suffering’, the swirls and lines of the word clearly carved with great care, and Ratchet set it on a tray to look at later.  
   
He lit up a finger and looked inside the ruined valve, carefully probing and maneuvering the torn mesh until he could see something close to the end of the valve.  Turning a finger into grippers he gently grasped the small square object and pulled it out into the light.  
   
“A data chip?”  
   
Prowl moved next to Ratchet to look at the energon coated chip.  
   
“You will want to be very careful with that, Ratchet.  We don’t know what is on it, nor if it is encrypted with a virus.  Please take every precaution before trying to open that information.”  
   
Ratchet only nodded peripherally, his attention fully focused on cleaning the sensitive components of the hardware.  He muttered a vague goodbye when Prowl left, completely missing the look on the second in command’s face.  
   
*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~  
   
The meeting was an odd mix of euphoria and trepidation.  
   
Ratchet had commed Optimus, thrilled to have been able to decrypt and restore the data on the chip in such a short amount of time.  It had been, he said, only a personal data chip.  Nothing that could be considered helpful for the war, since most of it took place during the Golden Age of Cybertron, but was definitely compiled from more than one mecha’s memory banks.  
   
So they sat in the meeting room and Ratchet inserted the chip into a holographic projector.  
   
In an instant,  the space above the table was filled with the sights and sounds of a high class party.  The point of view shifting and moving as the mech moved through the crowd before stopping and talking to an attractive silver mech.  
   
Within moments, it was clear that the silver mech was an elite consort.  Not just a pleasure bot, but a trophy companion who catered to the highest bidder for the night.  
   
The scene shifted to another party and the angles made it clear that this was from a different mech, but the same silver mech was again the target of the memory.  
   
And so it went.  Literally hundreds of scenes from various memory banks that all featured the same silver consort as the main focus.  After the first few Ratchet simply sped through the rest, sound fading out as they watched the quickly flickering images.  
   
When it was finally done they all sat back, except Jazz.  
“Where’d yah get this, Ratch?”  
   
Ratchet slipped the chip from the projector and into a small case.  
   
“The chip was at the back of Soundwave’s valve.  Our murderer must have placed it in there before they shoved the spike in and closed the panel.  I don’t recognize many of the mecha at these parties, so I can’t help identify the city, but you can all see that each memory file clearly is focused on that consort.  I can only assume this means something, otherwise why would it be left for us to find?”  
   
It was, strangely enough, Perceptor who spoke up next.  
   
“I recognize him, that consort.   He was at a few of the parties that I attended for Science Counsel Awardees.  I myself purchased time with him on a few occasions.  He was, quite frankly, the best there was.  Very physically attractive, intelligent and knowledgeable on a vast range of subjects and fiercely attentive to his favored patron of the evening; there were more than a few mecha who sought him out repeatedly, but he was very selective in his clientele.”  
   
Optimus leaned forward.  
   
“So is it possible that this… consort is the killer?  That he is taking some sort of revenge on mecha from this point in his past?”  
   
Jazz shoved backward from the table, chair clattering to the floor as he stood up.  
   
“Aint no way that consort is th’ killer. No way.”  
   
Everyone looked at Jazz in surprise.  The Ops Commander rarely let his emotions create an outburst like this, and over a consort?  
   
“Ah know ‘im.  ‘E aint a killer no more’n Prime was a pleasure bot.  Aint no way.”  
   
Jazz was shaking, his accent quickly falling into barely understandable, and moving agitatedly across the floor.  
   
“If anythin’, yah lookin’ at some’n tha’ ‘E refused.  Some’n ‘E didn’t consort wit’.”  
   
It was Ratchet who had the missing information, so it was naturally Ratchet who put it together first.  
   
“It was YOU!”  
   
Heads whipped to the master spy still pacing the floor.  
   
“You were that consort!”  
   
Jazz exploded into motion, shoving the other mecha aside and bolting out the door without a backward glance.  
   
A bemused Prowl looked at the gob smacked expressions on the other’s faces.  
   
“Perhaps, Ratchet, you should have talked to Jazz before exposing his past to everyone.”  
   
With that, he walked out after his lover.  
   
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
It was dark in his room as the mecha responsible for the day’s events lay on his berth.  
   
He idly stroked a hand over the hip of his lover, a shushing noise coming out when the other stirred, and contemplated the different visages of Jazz.  
   
The black and white that he was now was fine enough, attractive enough, he supposed.  It was a more practical form, as necessitated by the war, but still pleasing enough to the eye.  
   
The silver form from the Golden Age though, that was pure artistry.  The form had been breathtakingly beautiful, all smooth lines and curves that were designed to turn heads and keep them turned.  
   
He had been merely a watcher at those parties, not a participant, and therefore had been completely out of an elite consort’s league.    Not that he would have had enough credits to purchase even the smallest amount of time anyway; his meager wages had barely paid for his one room apartment and pit poor quality energon.  There was never enough left over for pleasantries, not when maintenance and repairs were always needed for a worker such as he had been.  
   
It didn’t matter now anyway.  He had shelter, energon and power and NOTHING would be able to take it away from him  
   
His smirk turned from mildly unpleasant into a cruel smile.  Soundwave had been the first of the last, the highest of the high falling to the depths of the pit.  
   
‘He won’t come around here anymore.’**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Wake up Call - Ch 5  
> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Jazz/Prowl  
> Rating: NC 17  
> Warnings: Death, Mutilation, Mind fuckery, Dark fic, references to interfacing, language.  
> Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas

Perceptor had been missing for nearly a week before his body showed up on the Ark’s doorstep.  
   
When he had gone missing, Jazz had been frantic.  He’d thrown all his available agents into working on finding the microscope, but none of them had turned up any information, and in the end it hadn’t mattered anyway.  
   
Because the scientist had been tortured in exactly the same capacity as Soundwave, down to the glyphs of suffering and the data chip with memory files trapped in the ruined valve by Perceptor’s own spike.  
   
Jazz had pushed Ratchet out of the morgue and stayed in there alone for joors.  When he finally came out he looked sluggish and underenergized, something Ratchet recognized as being from crying for a long time.  
   
He wished he’d never shown that data at the meeting.  If he had just run it by Optimus, or even Prowl first before throwing it in everyone’s faces maybe Jazz wouldn’t have…  
   
It also showed, however, that the killer was close to them.  Otherwise there should have been no way for them to know about Perceptor.  
   
Unless they’d already known about Perceptor.  
   
Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nasal plates, focusing on the pressure that the sensors were warning him about.  
   
This was such a clusterfuck.  They didn’t really have any information on the killer, and he’d succeeded in breaking a millennia long secret that didn’t have any bearing on the war.  
   
Fragging fantastic.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
   
When Jazz just up and disappeared, everyone was frantic.  
   
When he showed up not a cycle later with Soundwave’s nearly dead cassettes, they had no clue what was going on.  
   
When Blaster ran into the medbay after Jazz…  
   
Not a single bot could find it in himself to begrudge him trying to save their lives.  It was the most passionate Jazz had been about something in a long time.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~~*  
   
“They have to agree Jazz, I can’t just plug ‘em in!”  
   
Jazz slammed a hand into the wall.  
   
“Fraggit!”  
   
With his body radiating fury, he carefully uplinked to Ravage and force rebooted the cassette.  
   
“Yah don’ have much time.  Soundwave is dead, if yah wanna live yah gonna have ta snap in wit Blaster.”  
   
Ravage lifted his head just enough to look into Jazz’s visor.  
   
“I will follow my creator to the well then.”  
   
Jazz looked like he’d known Ravage’s answer and hoped otherwise.  
   
“I’ll find out who did this ta him, I promise.  Aint nothin’ gonna stop meh from killin’m either.”  
   
Ravage nuzzled Jazz’s hand with the last of his strength before lying back down.  
   
“Ratbat.  If you would save any of us, let it be Ratbat.”  
   
And so it went.  Each cassette was force rebooted and made the same offer, only for them to each repeat the same thing.  They would follow Soundwave.  
   
They each also expressed the same plea.  Save Ratbat.   
   
Frenzy had lasted the longest online, and had told Jazz and Blaster in fits and starts that Ratbat was the youngest.  All he had ever known was the war and they knew at least with the Autobots Ratbat would have a better life then they had aboard the Nemesis.  
   
Ratbat had onlined with a shriek and promptly curled into a ball, sobbing with the force of his lost kin bonds.  When Jazz made the offer to the rapidly declining cassette it was only his extreme ‘interpretation’ of the garbled answer that had them connecting him into Blaster’s systems.  
   
It was painstakingly obvious that recovery would take a long time.  Blaster had adopted symbiotes before, but only on a temporary basis.  This was something new to all of them; something they weren’t even sure would work.  
   
But Jazz had to try.  
   
Had to do something to salvage whatever he could from his one-time friend.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~~*  
   
How exactly the news of Jazz being a one time Elite Consort spread so quickly through the Ark even Red Alert was unsure about.   
   
It was infuriating to some, exasperating to others and a non-issue for many.  One thing that everyone could agree on was that the mech Jazz had been and the mech he was now were completely different.  
   
That, and Jazz had literally ripped into a mech in the rec room when he’d made a disparaging comment on his former profession and the line of dead mechs gracing the Ark.  
   
Mecha were very careful around Jazz after that.  Gone was the easy going, party loving officer they had come to know and love and in his place was a battered and angry mech willing to tear into someone at the slightest sudden movement.  
   
Prowl was the only one who could keep Jazz from going off on the other mecha.  Jazz would start to get worked up and suddenly Prowl would sweep in and diffuse the situation, pulling Jazz into a corner of the rec room or back to their quarters while he calmed down.  
   
They had never seen the smug, self-assured smile that Prowl seemed to wear all the time before either.  
   
So many things were happening now that were out of everyone’s control.  It was tearing friendships apart, creating distrust within the ranks and making what had once been a near perfect working environment into Pit on Earth.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~*~  
   
Jazz was curled on his berth, mind whirling with bits and pieces of memory files and random information that he was trying to match together.  
   
He was sure the killer was someone he had refused time with, why else would they target mecha who had been his clients?  
   
But the list of names known to him was short, and none of them had lived past the raids.  The only thing he could think of was that one of them had been refit and was close to him.  
   
He could even say that he was fairly certain whoever the killer was that he was on the Ark.  The Decepticons  were as worried about this as Optimus was, and that said a lot about the killer.  To be able to take down Soundwave though… Jazz honestly wasn’t sure who was capable of doing that from the Ark.   
   
Soundwave had thwarted them on the battlefield for vorns.  Now suddenly he turns up dead by a single mech?  Who would have had the ability to take him down and not used it given previous chances?  
   
Unless this killer had been planning this for that long.  Jazz knew it was plausible, he himself had spent incredible amounts of time on specific missions, simply because biding his time was the best option at the time.  Was this what the killer had planned?  
   
He forcibly turned his thoughts to Ratbat.  
   
The small cassette was more than distraught, seeking Jazz out whenever Blaster let him leave his chest compartment.  
   
He had reverted to sparkling speak of clicks and whistles, offering an uplink cable to share memories whenever he was lucid enough to do so.  
   
Soundwave had shared many memories of him with the cassettes, and when Jazz had uplinked with Ratbat in the medbay he had known that the two mecha were one in the same.  
   
Blaster had shrugged when Jazz asked about it, saying that the only reason Ratbat stayed with him at all was because he needed to charge plugged into Blaster’s systems.  If Jazz upgraded himself with a charge port mod, Ratbat would more than likely stay with him all the time.  
   
It was a small comfort to Jazz to have Ratbat’s trust when it seemed that no one else trusted him anymore.  
   
Even Prowl was acting differently, though Jazz couldn’t figure out why.  
   
It was… strange.  Prowl treated him with the same level of respect and familiarity as he had before, not even seeming to care about his past as a consort, but then there were times when  Jazz caught flashes of possessive anger and smug satisfaction that seemed completely out of context.  
   
Like he had already known about Jazz’s past and just hadn’t said anything about it.  
   
A small body slipped into his room and snuggled into his abdominal plating and he moved a hand to gently stroke the trembling body.  
   
When the cable was tentatively offered, he pushed aside all the bad feelings and memories to focus on giving Ratbat as much comfort as he could.  
   
*~*~*~*~*~~*~*  
   
His collection of spikes was quite impressive, if he did say so himself.  It was too bad that he had opted to leave both Soundwave and Perceptor’s with their bodies, but sacrifices must be made to ensure the destruction of the carefully crafted persona Jazz had made for the war.  
   
He would have delighted in using them, however, they had burned with deliciously dark energy when they found out who he was and it was always nicer to use that carefully collected hate then to have to generate his own.  
   
Living with the Autobots had always left him starved for those feelings.  They were all so altruistic and LOYAL to their Prime, only a few of them ever had really truly hateful intentions.  It was enough to make him seek out Decepticons simply for the joy of feeding off their malignant energy, sucking it into his own EM field like a form of lifeblood.  
   
It was wonderful, and now he didn’t even have to leave the ark to have those delicious feelings close by.  Jazz was pouring them out in droves, Ratbat as well, to a lesser extent and it was nearly all he could do to keep his hands off.  
   
For now.  
   
Soon, the voice in his processor crooned.  So very, very soon you will have what you desire and no one will be able to take it from you ever again.  
   
So very soon he would hammer the last nail into place and everything that Jazz was would be his.  
   
Pity about Ratbat, however, he would have liked this sweep to have been a clean one.  
  
‘Oh what was I thinking?  Is his heart still beating?’


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Prowl/Jazz
> 
> Rating: NC17
> 
> Warning: NonCon/Rape, Sticky sex, Spark sex, Oral, Violence, Forced Bonding
> 
> Disclaimer: I claim nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.

No one knew exactly what happened, only that suddenly Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were being carried into the medbay and Ratchet was yelling orders while his hands were buried in Sunstreaker’s chest.

Sunstreaker had taken the damage, the glyphs carved somewhat hurriedly and shakily as though they had been done extremely quickly, but it was Sideswipe that was on the verge of offlining.

Ratchet both cursed and praised their damn bond as he continued to switch from body to body as he fought to keep them both alive.

 Sunstreaker kept trying to force something through his vocalizer, but damaged as it was the only thing that came out were screeches and garbled static, and Ratchet kept batting away the cable that had snaked out from his wrist.

“You can tell me later AFTER you both aren’t about to go offline!  Fragging glitch that did this is going to get more than a piece of my mind.”

When Sunstreaker’s movements became more and more frantic after that statement, Ratchet roared for First Aid to sedate him, never paying attention to the frontliner’s  attempts to get his attention before he dropped into unconsciousness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jazz woke up to find himself strapped down to a berth and immediately tested out the restraints to find them Ops grade.

In fact, they were HIS Ops grade restraints.

His visor was gone, rendering his sight much less effective than his mods normally afforded, and the room was clearly under several jamming signals.  His sensor horns only reported static on every frequency.

A noise, the clanking of pieces of metal, suddenly echoed in the  darkness and Jazz strained his sensors to give him any information on what it could be.

“Jazz Jazz Jazz.  Couldn’t be satisfied with what you had?”

Jazz froze at the sound of that voice, head twisting left and right in an effort to find its owner.

“I did warn you, you know.  I gave you every indication that you were mine.”

The voice hissed closer and a hand gently stroked Jazz’s helm.

“I would have given you the world Jazz, anything and everything you could have wanted…”

The hand smoothed down his face and over his chest plates, fingertips dipping into spaces and crevices with practiced ease.

“Yet you chose to go to him!  Why Jazz, Why!”

Jazz flicked through all the settings on his optics, trying to find one that gave him even the smallest edge.

“It didn’t mean nothin’ Prowler, he just needed someone for the night.”

The hand on his chest plates curled into a fist, metal screeching as he dug grooves, and thumped him once.

“You didn’t think I would find out?  Perhaps you didn’t think I would care?  No,  I watched you for _millennia_ before I even entertained a chance with you.  _Millennia_ Jazz.  Back when you cavorted with  him, with all of them, on Cybertron up until you disappeared from the scene.”

Jazz felt the tendrils of fear snake their way into his spark.  This wasn’t his Prowler, it couldn’t be.

“And not only did you go back to _him_ ,” the word dripped with obvious disgust,  “you  saw fit to bare him your spark!  That spark that you _promised_ me would be only mine when we began our relationship.”

The pinpricks of light that denoted the other mech’s optics moved until they were at Jazz’s pedes, his neck straining to keep them in his limited vision as his processor flashed through various plans and scenarios.

“Ah told yah, it didn’t mean nothin’!  Frag Prowler, aint been a mech who’d revved meh up like yah do!  Prime jus’ needed someone who wouldn’t treat him special!”

Light suddenly flooded the room and Jazz’s optics shuttered before they could compensate properly.  He forced them unshuttered and gaped at the mech standing near his pedes.

“Yah aint mah Prowler.”

The mech laughed, doorwings lazily flapping, and drug a finger across the bottom of Jazz’s pede.

“More or less.”

Jazz narrowed  his optics at the strange mech.

“What do yah mean, ‘more or less’.”

The finger moved over the bottom of his pede again as the other mech tilted his head in consideration.

“You were not always ‘Jazz’, do not assume that others do not have their own secrets.  I am Prowl now, just as you are Jazz now.”

The optics narrowed and a sharp point dug a line in the metal that had been gently traced not a klick before.

And if you hadn’t thrown off ‘Jazz’ and returned to whore yourself to that idiot you call leader…”

A nasty smile grew on the familiar yet not faceplates.

“You could have spared all those unnecessary deaths.   So sad, isn’t it?”

The tendrils of fear that had started winding through Jazz’s spark quickly turned to fury.  He roared, throwing his weight against the restraints and spitting vitriol at the laughing mech at his pedes.

“Such a temper!  I have always admired your ability to use that emotion to your advantage Jazz, perhaps I simply hadn’t provided the proper stimulation?  You have always provided me with quite the challenge, Sweet.”

A growl.

“Don’t talk ta meh like you got rights.  I aint yah ‘Sweet’.”

The mech moved back up to his head, crooning low noises the whole way.

“Pet, Sweet, _Dearling_ , no?  All those lovely terms that you begged me to whisper into your audials, to make you feel like you weren’t what you used to be, all the while whoring yourself out?”

“Ah didn’t do NOTHING wit’ ANYONE but Prime!  Fraggin’ glitch yah are, aint no one on board that ark would refuse Prime!”

The mech slammed his hands down on the berth, optics glinting dangerously.

“I would!  He had no right to what is mine. NO RIGHT!  MINE Jazz, you are MINE!”

“Ah don’t belong ta no one, mech. Ah  worked hard enough ta buy mah own contract on Cybertron so Ah wouldn’t _belong_ ta no one!”

Deceptively gentle hands petted his audio horns.

”You were mine before you ever knew it, fool.  I have owned you since I first laid optics on you, my precious Jazz.  I made sure of that, you know.  I made sure that no one found out who you were so they couldn’t  use it against you.  You underestimated their interest in you back then, where you came from and why you didn’t have an official record, and I was the one who constantly covered your pitifully made tracks!”

Jazz’s mouth dropped open.  He’d often wondered how he’d kept his secret for so long.  Now no-one had reason to doubt him, but when the war had first broken out he’d been shunted through dozens of horrible jobs because he couldn’t produce the proper documents.

“The only reason I’m even with your pitiful Autobots is you, Dearest.  Your Prime is much to altruistic for my liking.”

To hear that this mech had been after him from that long ago was… more than unsettling.

“Why?”

Jazz was blown out of his depth.  He had no clue who this mech had been, or why he would have gone to such lengths for his secret.

“I told you, Pet, you have always been mine.  It is such a shame I have to punish you… I don’t want to, you know, but if I don’t you might think you can do it again.”

  
The mech placed a chaste kiss on Jazz’s slack mouth.

“And I can’t have that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sunstreaker felt like he was floating, resting just above a black abyss that threatened to swallow him up again.

He had to tell them, had to warn them! 

Fighting against the syrupy feeling until he felt pain, Sunstreaker pushed through it until he felt his systems online with fits and starts.

A screech told him that his vocalizer still wasn’t working, and comms spit static when he tried to transmit.  His only option was to plug into someone.

Looking around, he saw Ratchet with his hands still buried deep into his twin’s chest, First Aid running parts and pieces at each barked command.

He slipped a cable from one of his rollers and fought to focus on Ratchet’s moving form, seeking out a port and slamming the cable home in a shaky/strong movement.

Ratchet went still, his curses internal as he fought Sunstreaker  until the yellow twin forced an image down the connection that had his lines run cold.

He turned to First Aid, careful to keep the cable connected.

“Get Prime down here, NOW!”

*~*~*~*~~*~*~

Prime pinched his nasal ridge.

“Are you sure about this Ratchet?  It isn’t corrupted data or a virus?”

Ratchet’s glower told him enough.

“No Prime.  I’ve checked and rechecked, Sunstreaker was adamant, there isn’t any corruption.”

Optimus sagged against the wall, head thunking backward for a klick, before straightening up and clicking his battle mask over his mouth.

::Attention Ark, as of this moment we are on high alert.  You are to search the Ark completely, leave no potential hiding place overlooked and keep to groups of five or more mecha.  We are now looking for former Autobot SIC Prowl.  If  you discover him, keep him busy until backup arrives.  He is suspected to have Autobot Jazz as a hostage.  Treat him with extreme caution, repeat, EXTREME caution.::

*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It seems your Prime has put a warning out, dear Jazz, and the whole Ark is now looking for you.  How sweet, no?”

Jazz growled, watching carefully as the mech opened a large box that rattled with each movement.   His trepidation growing as he realized exactly what was making the noise.

The mech pulled out the rod of metal, turning it appreciatively in his hands before moving back to Jazz’s side.

“When I first began collecting these, I found it soothing.  Sort of a small rebellion, you see, against anyone who had taken you before me.”

The tip of the spike, Jazz could clearly see where it had been torn from its owner, was run gently over his plating. 

“Would you like to know who I was back then Dearest?  You saw me on many occasions, though I was there in a working capacity, but you never _looked_ at me.  Why would you?  You were there to make money and I certainly didn’t have any to spare.”

Jazz kept his eyes on Prowl/not Prowl as he tried not to react to the spike sliding over his plating.  His own hands were surreptitiously teasing his plating back on one finger each, they were his Ops cuffs after all, and he always left himself a backdoor.

“Sorry, Ah don’t remember yah.”

A snort, then a deliberate caress to his pelvic panel.

“You wouldn’t.  A common Enforcer wouldn’t stand out in anyone’s memory, no?”

“Yah were an Enforcer?”

“Not in the least.  I was, however, an exceptional mimic and that disguise let me watch you more closely.  No, I did whatever for whomever would hire me, a sort of menial worker you could say.”

His plating was nearly free, all he had to do was force an overload through the systems of the cuffs.  They would recognize his electrical signature and unlatch.

Jazz shuddered as the hands started to move with more intent.  His processor was disgusted, but his body recognized the EM field that had brought him to overload more times than he could count.

“Yes Pet, your body remembers me ever so nicely.  I do hope that we can still create those wonderful sparks I so enjoy.”

“Let meh go Prowl, this aint th’ way to do this.”

“Oh Pet,  I’m sorry it came to this.  If you’d only been mine forever…”

Jazz held back a scream as his valve cover was ripped from his pelvic plate.

“I never would have had to prove it to you.  I made myself to be what you wanted, why wasn’t I enough?!”

His body tried to instinctively curl as the spike was lovingly pushed into his dry valve, mouth gaping in pain, and slowly pulled back out, an almost gentle rhythm offsetting the pain of lack of lubrication.

“Stop!  Pr- _guh_ -owl, STOP!”

The glittering blue optics took a hard edge and the movements grew less and less gentle with each thrust.

“Oh Jazz, we’ve only begun…”

*~*~*~*~~*~

“No one has found anything Prime.  Not a scuff mark, not a clue.  Are you sure he is still in the Ark?”

“Ratchet said that Sunstreaker recognized where he was, but not how to get there.  Some room far enough down or back that no one else had noticed it.”

Prime slammed a hand down on a medberth, denting the metal, and growled.

“No one can find Jazz, this killer has been cavorting right under our pedes and we can’t find him in our own ship!”

Ratchet held his hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

“I’m sorry Prime!  Sunstreaker’s memory files just don’t show enough detail for me to see where they are!  Prowl had them knocked out for the journey there and they weren’t in any state to notice their surroundings on the way back!”

Optimus spun towards the door, pedes clicking on the metal floor as he strode out.

*~*~*~*~*~

Energon dripped in a steady plip-plop onto the metal berth, two sets of vents drawing in air heavily in the otherwise silent room.

“You are so beautiful, spread for me like this Pet.  I do so enjoy touching…”

Prowl drew a digit lightly over the edge of the torn valve, making the owner flinch, before pressing his  glossa lightly inside.  Jazz’s body jerked with each lap of his torn valve, energon running quicker with each tense and release.

“Frag you Prowl!  GUH!  I’ll KILL you fo-AHHH- this!”

Prowl paused in his ministrations, energon dripping from his chin, and climbed to settle between Jazz’s bound legs.

“Perhaps, Pet, but I will enjoy being the last mecha you ever allow near this precious place.”

With that he clicked open his spike panel and seated himself in Jazz with an Energon coated thrust.

“AAHHHHhhh!”

Prowl didn’t wait.  He slid in and out with a steady, rolling rhythm that Jazz knew intimately; one that had once set his sensors on fire just from memory.

“Do you remember where he kept touching you, Pet?  Those large hands clasping your chest as you rode his spike, thumbs stroking down that seam that opens to the most beautiful sight in the world.  Like it was his?”

He forced his way fully in, past what Jazz would normally be able to take, and arched at the sound of ripping metal mesh pulling Jazz’s cries into his own mouth in facsimile of a kiss.

“Do you remember what you said?  You said, “He’d know.”  Not that you were taken, not that it was wrong, no Pet, that I would know.”

“Ah didn’t want ta hurt yeh!”

Prowl ground their connected elements together, pushing until Jazz’s vocalizer spit static and squeals.

“It isn’t me you hurt, Pet.”

With that he set a pounding pace, one that had pained noises spilling from Jazz through his efforts to stop them, and lifted a piece of sharp metal to the unmarred plating.

“I do hope this feels as good for you as it does for me.”

Energon welled up in each glyph, Jazz venting hard as he fought the pain, but Prowl paid it no mind.  He spent careful attention on each one, never pausing in his relentless pace against Jazz’s body until the last was finished.

“Perfect, no?  I’m sure you’ll agree that you look better with these, much less available.”

Jazz felt like his body was on fire.  He’d been tortured before, but whatever Prowl was doing was setting off more neural sensors than it should.  It was like being hot wired into red lining machinery, nothing didn’t feel and everything felt too much.

“Still, as much as I would like to drag this on, I fear that our time together here grows short.”

That caught Jazz’s attention.

“What do yeh mean?”

A thin piece of metal was forced through his chestplates and his manual locks overridden.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what will happen if I’m caught here Pet.  The one thing Optimus Prime would offline anyone outside of battle for, don’t you know what that is?  I’m sure you do.”

Jazz’s processor stopped, froze his body to stop twitching, and he looked up at Prowl with dawning horror.

“Yeh aint.”

“Oh Pet, I assure you I am.”

With that Prowl peeled back Jazz’s chest plates to expose his wildly spinning spark, shoving components out of the way with little care to the damage he was causing.

Jazz flicked his plating free fingers, trying to get them to spark enough to send the cuffs into electrical overload.  He’d managed to get them high enough when Prowl slammed his own spark directly into Jazz’s.

The room filled with two very different kinds of screams as Prowl pushed further and further into Jazz’s being. 

It hurt.

Oh Primus it hurt.

Jazz couldn’t think, couldn’t feel.  He was only aware of Prowl inside his soul, tearing off pieces and shoving pieces of himself into the holes he created. 

He pushed, trying to shove Prowl back and out of him, but it only served to incense him more and Jazz could only ‘be’ in horror while half of him was replaced with this stranger’s spark.

When Prowl finally pulled back, it was with a pained grimace of his own.  He didn’t close their chest plates, but instead picked up the laser scalpel he’d used on Jazz earlier.

“Never again alone, Pet.  You and I will forever be joined, life to death.”

It was with an insane grin that Prowl brought the laser scalpel down to their connected components and sliced off his own spike.

Jazz flicked his fingers again, the charge building more quickly this time.

Prowl flicked on a mini welder and retrieved Jazz’s valve cover, carefully and diligently welding it shut with his own interfacing rod still within Jazz.

Jazz pushed the pain as far aside as he was able and built his charge until it was ready.  He touched the exposed fingers to the cuffs and couldn’t bite back a moan of pain that surged through his already zinging circuits.

Not bothering to look up from his nearly completed task, Prowl never saw Jazz’s sudden lurch upright, but he felt hands on his helm and laughed as it was torn from his body.

*~*~*~*~*~~*~

They’d finally found Jazz.  It had been Ratbat who had suddenly screeched and taken off from where he’d been hiding in Blaster’s quarters, mecha following him through the winding hallways of the Ark until he reached a solid wall and kept ramming himself into it.

Blaster had caught the cassette and stood back as the larger mecha bust through the wall.  There had been a moment of silence before someone purged and Optimus Prime and Ratchet shoved their way through.

Ratbat had fought out of his hold and flown to curl up around Jazz’s neck, not that he acknowledged it. 

Still.

He was bound at the ankles to a berth with Prowl’s still cooling body situated between his knees in a way no one could misinterpret.  His body laying haphazardly over Jazz’s, both of their chest plates still open, but his head was on the floor, still sparking from where the cables had been forcibly ripped from the body.

Someone later swore that Ratchet had never incited so many to cooperation so quickly.

*~*~*~*~*~~*~

Jazz sat on the medberth, Ratbat curled in his lap.  He’d gotten a charge port upgrade and now the small cassette never left his side.

“Eh ‘Bat, what’re we gonna do.”

The small cassette chirped sleepily and nuzzled the closest hand.

The damage hadn’t really been that bad.  Nothing a little while in Medbay wouldn’t fix easy, but Jazz had steadfastly refused to let Ratchet unweld his interface panel.

He told himself it was because he would never interface again.

The place in his spark that spun off kilter from the rest whispered otherwise.

It crooned at him.  Softly, never loud or insistent enough that Jazz couldn’t block it out if he wanted, but never stopped either.

It crooned all the dirty things that he would feel, all the sensory ghosts that would visit during recharge, never relenting, never overbearing.

Jazz found he liked not being alone.

So he slid out of the berth and left, hips twitching from side to side as the trapped spike rubbed gently over partially healed nodes, walking toward his room with a hitch in his step and a charge on the line.

Ratbat woke and wound himself around Jazz’s neck, rubbing against his neck cabling in an effort to help Jazz along.

In his room he crouched, rocking his hips forward and back, savoring the feel of the torn metal and mesh as they slid together.  Savoring the words that that dirty part of his spark whispered into his processor.

He touched Ratbat and they brought each other to a painful overload, Jazz venting hard as his optics shuttered and he saw Prowl laying on his berth, motioning for him to come and lay down.

Never alone.

Never again.

Ratbat cooed, his damaged processor picking up that though through their newly established symbiote bond. 

They both needed it.

Never alone.

Never again.

  
In Jazz’s processor Prowl wrapped his arms around them both and continued his soft whispered promises.

Never alone, Never again.

Jazz giggled into the open space of his room, arms wrapped around a figure that didn’t exist, and nuzzled Ratbat’s head.

NeveraloneNeveragain.

*~*~*~*~~*~*~

“Wake up call, Lover.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up Call – Epilogue
> 
> Universe: G1  
> Characters: Jazz/Ratbat, Jazz/Prowl, Ratchet  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: Dark, Mind fuckery, creepy shit, Sticky sex, Oral, Public Sex  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own it… *le sigh*

Jazz was twitching again.

Ratchet watched the former CO as he sat at the monitors, the only duty he’d been allowed back on, and couldn’t help his vent of frustration.

He was many things, but stupid was definitely not one of them.  Ratchet knew why Jazz hadn’t wanted his interface panel unwelded, and even though it went against his better judgment he’d left it alone.  Jazz had been quite adamant and Ratchet was watching as closely as he could.

Still, he had no clue what was going through Jazz’s processor.  To have a person you trusted betray you that deeply was something that he wasn’t sure would ever really heal. 

So Ratchet watched, reported everything to Prime and had Jazz in with him every cycle.  It broke his spark to see the once vibrant TIC turned into a glitched mess.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jazz could barely bite back a groan as he shifted in his seat.

‘They can all see you, Pet.  Especially Ratchet, watching you all the time to make sure you don’t do anything _stupid_.’

His hips rolled from side to side almost unconsciously and he savored the slide of metal against metal coming from his valve.  The spike had begun to rust and rot, and he could feel the sharp edges scratch and slice his ever healing lining.

The pain was a focus, something that took his mind off of his dead friends and former clients, as well as a dirty pleasure.

‘You should overload right here, right now, in this chair.  It would serve them right for staring, no?  Looking at what they can’t have…’

Ratbat slithered out from his recharge port and rubbed under Jazz’s chin.  The length of his body flaring to catch as much surface area as possible as he chirred in Jazz’s audio.

The voice was soothing, the deep tenor familiar even as it was the sound he hated the most.  It grated and seduced and sent his processor into a whirl that was so hard to get out of it wasn’t enough effort to try.

So he didn’t, he just listened and rocked, gasps of pain and pleasure working their way into open air, hands curling until the sharpened points bit into his own plating. 

His glossa flicked out and caught Ratbat under the chin, nudging the cassette’s head higher so he could mouth and bite at the already marked neck.

Ratbat hissed when a particularly savage bite was administered and swung a wing to hit Jazz on the side of his head.  Jazz only rocked with the blow and laved his glossa over the new mark before bringing his hands up to stroke the black belly.

There were grumbles in the background, but neither of them particularly cared.  Jazz’s charge was constant, never ending.  Only overload rid his body of the excess electricity for a while before it was back and clawing at him.

Ratchet had mentioned processor damage, but even replacing his components hadn’t had any effect on the charge.

Jazz knew why.  It wasn’t physical, he’d told them that.  It was the bits of spark spinning in opposition with his own, the voice that never let him rest within his own head.

It was Prowl.

Ratchet had looked ill, had made token arguments on how it wasn’t possible before nearly throwing them out of medbay.  It shouldn’t have been possible to have a spark bond with a dead mech. 

They didn’t listen.

Prowl wasn’t dead, just as Jazz wasn’t alive.  They were two half sparks in the same body, neither willing to die just as neither was willing to give in to the other.

So Prowl talked, Jazz listened, and they saw the outside world in a new light.

‘You could feel again, Pet.  Use them, show them!  Show them how nice it feels to never be without someone.’

Jazz swore the spike moved on its own, electricity jumping from the tip to the back of his valve, and he bounced in his seat to move it again.

Ratbat whined at the loss of attention and snicked his own panel open before crawling over Jazz’s helm and presenting himself at mouth level. 

Jazz never hesitated, the familiar scent touching his nose a fraction of a klick before he swiped his tongue over the array.

Ratbat keened, nuzzling and licking the black audial horns even as his tiny claws left scratches and gouges from trying to hang on, and pressed closer to the teasing pressure.  Jazz brought his hands up and forced the small cassette’s body flat against his face, his glossa delving deep enough into the small valve to hit the top and force a screech that rung through his audio.

He didn’t stop though, not when Ratbat struggled in pleasure/pain, and not when his own rocking caused the jagged edges of the spike to cut deep enough to cause energon to seep into his valve.

‘Yes Pet!  See how he writhes under your attention! Press harder, make him cry in pain and come back for more.’

Ratbat’s struggles alternated between true panic and glitched bliss.  His shorted processor understanding/not understanding the delineation between the good attention and bad attention, he only sought sensation to replace what was lost.

Jazz’s denta nipped with enough force to break the surface and he tasted energon as he continued his attentions.

There were shouts around him, but he paid them no mind.  His only focus was on the voice inside his head and the body so open for his care.

Ratbat finally arched with a squeal, the sensation too much for his limited capacity, and he went limp.  Jazz took no notice, mouth and glossa continuing to plunder the slick tunnel with singular intensity and it wasn’t long before the cycle inevitably started up again.

He could smell the energon, the lubricant, and the fear in the cassette.  It dripped from his chin and splashed on his own heated armor, the voice in his processor growing louder in his frenzy to feel.

‘Don’t stop, they all see you now!  Watching as you take what is yours openly, they’ll never question your claim.’

Jazz could swear that Prowl’s spike moved on its own and all of the sudden he was flat on his back, hips arching into a phantom touch as he was pounded by the specter in his own spark.  His hands never released their hold on Ratbat and the cassette was once again mewling in pleasure from the familiar movements.

Glossa in, sliding over nodes covered in his own and Jazz’s oral lubricant, glossa out, twisting and playing over the rim and slick folds before driving back in.

A dance that they had perfected. 

Bites and rubs to his own audio horns, Ratbat’s small claws and glossa roving over the small area available to him, primed his  sensors and electricity danced between their conductive fluids.

The phantom thrusts were speeding up, causing his glossa to mimic the movement and Ratbat to shrill in pleasure/pain again.

Jazz pushed further, glossa thrusting to hit the node cluster at the back of the tiny valve with each pass, and clutched the tiny body to him as he hit his own overload, shrieking and snarling before throwing the small body off of his face.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and forced him upright.  Ratbat flew haphazardly back over to him and curled around his neck, hissing at the hands that tried to remove him.

‘So beautiful, Pet.  So beautiful and all mine, yes?’

Jazz’s body twitched as the charge started to come back, stressed and burned circuits causing glitches in his motor function, and he gave a half grin to Ratchet. 

“Gonna kill meh yet, doc bot?”

He asked the same question every time they came down here.

The hand on his shoulder tightened to the point of denting, but there was no answer from Ratchet. 

A dark chuckle escaped him and his head lolled from side to side as it grew into full blown laughter.  Ratchet had to stop and pick him up, throwing Jazz’s body over his shoulder, before they could continue and he could see the scared and pitying faces of his comrades as he was carted off to the medbay.

‘Always yours, Prowler.’

The voice in his spark joined him in laughter.


End file.
